“Is that so?” Mr. Mattheson asked.
“Yes, George Darley was out recently. In fact, we heard him preach at home and then up in Silverton. He drew quite a crowd at the Last Call Saloon,” Papa said.
Mr. Mattheson chortled. “Leave it to George. Can’t say that I’ve heard a sermon in some time. But I’ve no one to blame for that but myself.”
“John, you keep referring to ‘we,’” Mr. Robbins said.
“Of course, excuse me.” Papa called Eliana over, though she stood only a few feet away.
“This is Eli, my son and my photography assistant. This is Chandler Robbins.”
With a nod, Eliana acknowledged the impressive, rugged man. She hoped he wouldn’t think her rude for not shaking his hand, but hers still stung from the fall. Besides, she felt it would be proper if he made the advance first, since he was the man in charge.
“Sir, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard a great deal about you,” she said in a masculine timbre.
Mr. Robbins dipped his chin. “If you’re any bit like your father, I’m sure you’ll be a great asset to the team.”
Mr. Robbins regarded Papa. “Any other children?”
“No, only the one.”
“And your wife?”
“I lost her several years ago.”
“Must not have been easy raising a kid on your own, but I see he turned out all right.” Mr. Robbins turned toward Eli.
Eliana shoved her hands in her pockets, her eyes scanning the gentlemen. Mr. Mattheson looked every bit as uncomfortable as her father. Papa cleared his throat and nodded.
“Watch yourself there!” Heads turned to see a disgruntled man of about thirty, who had been lingering nearby, wipe spilled coffee from the front of his suit.
“Pardon me.” Yiska took a bandanna from his pocket and dabbed at the man’s chest.
“Don’t touch me! Who let this savage in here?” the well-dressed man barked.
Robbins walked up to the pair, and Papa followed. “Hold on now. It’s just a little accident,” Mr. Robbins said.
“Do you know how much I paid for this suit?”
“I don’t want to know. You should have left it in New York City and brought proper clothing.” Mr. Robbins made a point of scanning the worn and dusty outfits of the men around him. “Gentlemen, meet Warren Cates from Atlantic Monthly Magazine.”
Warren Cates straightened as Mr. Robbins made the introductions. Then Robbins eyed Yiska. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
Yiska’s eyes shifted to Eliana’s father and then back to Mr. Robbins again.
Papa interjected, “This is Yiska Wilcox. He’s here to do feature work for the San Juan Prospector.”
Mr. Robbins looked Yiska square in the face, as if he expected more. Papa continued, “Yiska is also your guide.”
Robbins looked Yiska over with a satisfying nod then looked hard at the agitator. “Now hear that, Cates. Next to me, Mr. Wilcox is the most important person on this expedition, and I expect you to treat him as such.”
Eliana doubted Robbins normally treated his guides with much respect, but he surely knew how to put Warren Cates in his place.
“I’ve heard you’re one of the best guides around,” Robbins said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if your travels have given you plenty of interesting things to write about.”
Mr. Cates harrumphed.
Eliana restrained herself from boasting about the Anonymous Explorer.
“Thank you. I’ve read some of your work and studied your maps. Superior detail,” Yiska said.
“I appreciate your good opinion. More will be published next year—including this survey of the four corners.” Robbins scratched behind his ear. “I’d like to go over the maps with you after you grab some supper, and then we’ll all meet outdoors to go over the itinerary.”
An hour later the entire survey team gathered around a campfire, fifteen in all.
“My goal is to confirm the coordinates from the Washington meridian and reset the marker at the intersection of Colorado, Utah, Arizona, and New Mexico,” Robbins told them. “From there we’ll go south to establish the boundary between the New Mexico and Arizona territories.”
Eliana listened attentively to every word.
“I emphasize my goal. I’ve been commissioned by the U. S. General Land Office. All others have been hired on to support the mission. Some of you are joining us of your own volition, like Harland Mattheson, a naturalist, or on assignment, like the journalists Warren Cates and Yiska Wilcox.”
Mr. Cates rolled his eyes.
“No one is indispensible, and I’ll not hesitate to dismiss anyone who interferes with my progress.”
Mr. Robbins looked at Yiska. “Wilcox will also serve as our guide. He has a few words about our journey.”
Eliana felt so proud of Yiska; it was hard not to smile at him as he spoke. “We have over three hundred miles in all to travel, and although you can feel the chill in the air tonight, we will leave these mountains for the heat of the desert. We’ll follow the Animas River south to New Mexico, where it joins the Rio San Juan. Don’t underestimate the rivers. The Spaniards called the Animas the ‘River of Lost Souls.’”
Yiska hadn’t mentioned that before, and it struck Eliana as both eerie and poetic.
He continued. “But that isn’t the only danger we might encounter. It’s twenty miles to the border, and most of it is in Ute territory. Stay armed and together. If all goes well, we’ll make it into New Mexico by nightfall tomorrow.”
Robbins clapped his hands together. “All right, fellas, let’s get to bed. We’re pulling out at first light.”
As the men adjourned, Eliana followed Yiska to tell him she thought he did a fine job explaining things.
Warren Cates got there first. “‘River of Lost Souls?’ I heard the river got its name because that’s where the Indians buried their enemy’s bodies.” Cates sneered at Yiska. “Don’t go getting any ideas.”
“Don’t give him a reason,” Eliana hissed.
Cates pivoted around. “Indian lover.”
She’d defended Yiska again. Now what could she say? “He can take care of himself. But I don’t like you carrying a grudge before we even begin the excursion. It’s not fair to the team.”
Cates started to grab her by the neck, but Yiska’s arm flew up to stop him.
“Leave the kid alone and get out of here.” The muscles in Yiska’s jaw tightened.
Cates contorted his face and tromped off like an irritated mountain goat.
Yiska walked into the darkness without turning back. Eliana did not follow.
At daybreak Eliana and Papa took some photographs of the train of pack mules, wagons loaded with provisions, and armed men on horseback ready to embark on their journey. Chandler Robbins rode at the head of the column with Yiska beside him. She would not get to speak to Yiska to offer an apology until they stopped for a rest, but from what he explained about the Utes, she wasn’t even sure that would happen. Eliana yawned as she put the camera back into the pack. She’d tossed and turned all night. She anticipated having trouble sleeping the night before the survey commenced, but all she thought about was the trouble she had made for Yiska. The pressure in her heart squeezed the joy right out of her.
Along the way, Papa and Mr. Mattheson enjoyed catching up on the years. Mr. Mattheson told Papa how he had become a naturalist. Some of his sketches and descriptions had even been published in a scientific journal. The sun rose high in the sky, and at last the convoy stopped to have a meal and rest the animals.
Papa and Mr. Mattheson sat on a log with their rifles propped by their sides, engrossed in conversation while eating their fill of fritters and coffee. Eliana went over to tend Firefly. She petted her nose and wondered if her mount was as sore as she was. Her body still complained from the harsh fall and longed for another soak in the hot springs.
Yiska appeared with Shadow in tow.
“You startled me,” Eliana said.
He
rested his hand on her saddle. “Have you watered her yet?”
“No. But I need to.”
“Come with me.”
They led their horses past Papa, Mr. Mattheson, and Mr. Robbins. “I’m taking Eli down to water his horse,” Yiska called out.
Papa waved, hardly aware of their presence.
They traveled in silence to a small hill overlooking a wide stream. Aspens offered a shady retreat. Eliana found her confidence and faced Yiska. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have defended you to Mr. Cates like that.”
“You’re right. You shouldn’t have.” She couldn’t read anything into his flat tone. Was he angry? Of course he was.
Her eyes stung, but she refused to cry in front of him. “I’m going to take Firefly down to the stream.”
“I’ll go with you.”
She looked back at him. “No. I mean, I need some privacy. I have a few things to tend to. Please keep your back turned.”
Yiska’s mouth drew into a tight line. “All right. Don’t be long.”
She led Firefly down the slope and let her drink from the clear mountain water. Eliana knelt down by her, cupped her hands, and took an icy sip. She tossed her hat to the ground, released her straggly plait, and shook out her hair. She would fix it in a moment. She spotted some high bushes nearby and retreated behind them to relieve herself. Now untucked, dare she adjust the bindings that camouflaged her figure?
She removed her neckerchief and unbuttoned down to the top of her underbodice. She knelt back down near the stream and splashed her face and neck, letting the water trickle down her chest. The days were growing hotter, as Yiska had warned. The frigid water and the gentle breeze invigorated her. In a few more hours they would reach New Mexico, where they’d stop for the night. She could do this. It wasn’t an easy journey, but she was determined to endure any hardship—including Yiska’s disappointment in her, and her disappointment with herself. Please Lord, let him forgive and trust me again.
A hard lump caught in her throat as she tried not to weep. Pain intensified throughout her body. She lowered her head and released tears like a torrent.
A shadow flickered across her reflection in the water. She was not alone. Had Yiska come to find her?
A wave of fear assailed her. Eliana turned and gasped—a lone Ute Indian loomed in front of her.
Eliana struggled to get to her feet, but he lunged forward and held her with the sharp point of a knife to her neck. She stared into his black eyes and let out shallow breaths. Where was her voice now?
Chapter 16
Yiska pulled his journal from his saddlebag and fumbled through the pages. A page had been torn out, and Eliana’s photograph was missing. The private words that he’d penned about Eliana up in the flowery basin—gone. Someone was up to no good.
Warren Cates. He knows that Eli is a girl. Yiska’s chest tightened. Blood pulsed through the veins of his forearms as he squeezed the leather tome.
In the distance, Firefly neighed and stomped. Alarm ripped through his body. Eliana!
Yiska tore down the hill, boots stirring up dust and stones. Firefly pawed the ground, her nose pointing to the overgrowth. Adrenaline exploded through Yiska’s body. He broke through the bushes and found Eliana pinioned against a boulder.
Yiska’s breath seethed through clenched teeth as he flung himself onto her attacker. The Ute rolled over and sprang to his feet. Yiska lunged at him, grabbing his wrist so hard the bone dagger dropped from his grip. The Ute seized Yiska’s waist and threw him to the ground. They wrestled over dirt and pine needles. Rocks cut into Yiska’s shins.
Yiska straddled the warrior, pinning the man’s body between his legs, and held his own knife at the enemy’s neck. Piercing eyes of hot coal glared at him. God, help me!
A strange shift from anger to answer brought Yiska to his senses. To kill the man would bring more trouble. As he kept the Indian pinned to the ground, knife at his throat, Yiska spoke the Piute word for ‘trade,’ one of the survival words he knew. “Nararwop.”
His face like stone, the warrior issued a slight nod, acknowledging agreement.
Yiska sliced through the Indian’s beaded bone neckpiece. A warning. He jerked his chin, motioning the man to get up.
The Ute stood resolute. The lean and muscular build above his breechcloth and leggings revealed brute strength. Yiska drew his revolver for insurance.
The Indian made a guttural sound as he angled his head toward Eliana, where she hovered on the ground. “Mamachi.”
With a sharp jab to his chest Yiska answered. “Mamachi—My woman.”
Yiska pointed at Eliana’s horse. “Poonggo.” He inched back and untied Firefly from the large root where Eliana had secured her. He had to appease the oppressor to ensure their safety.
The Indian took a step forward.
Yiska raised his hand, and the Ute halted. Yiska grabbed Eliana’s rifle from the scabbard attached to her saddle and placed it on the ground behind him. He released Firefly’s girth and tossed the saddle to the ground in one sweep—blanket, pack, and all. Yiska motioned for the Indian to come forward and stepped away from the horse.
The renegade whisked himself up on the mare’s bare back and rode away with the force of a sandstorm, echoes of screams trailing behind him.
Yiska released the wind from his lungs and turned to Eliana. He pulled her to her feet and wrapped his arm around her waist as they ascended the steep incline, keeping his ear tuned to potential danger. He took Eliana’s saddle and gear, hoisted it up in front of Shadow’s saddle, and mounted his horse in one swift motion. Then he stretched his arm to Eliana and helped her up behind him.
She wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her head against his back. Yiska dug his heels into the sides of his faithful mount, and Shadow bolted. After riding a short distance, they stopped in a grove of piñon trees.
Yiska dismounted, placed a firm grip around Eliana’s waist, and lowered her from his horse into his embrace.
“Will he return?” she asked.
“No. I’m sure of it. And if there were others, we’d have seen them by now.” He stepped back and cupped her face in his hands. The very hands that had almost killed a man now held the one he loved. The mystery of it confounded him.
Eliana’s eyes still held fear. “Why didn’t you kill him?”
His eyes widened. “Is that what you wanted?”
Arms wrapped around him, she grabbed a fistful of his buckskin shirt in her hands. “No. But a few times I thought it might happen.”
“If I killed him, there’d be more trouble to contend with. The Utes take a life for a life. None of us would be safe until they avenged him.”
The fear in Eliana’s eyes waned and became like dew.
Yiska swallowed hard. “I had to say that.”
“That I am your woman?” Hazel eyes looked up at him from beneath her dark lashes.
“Yes.”
She wet her lower lip. “Am I?”
Yiska leaned his forehead against hers, and they took in the same air with shallow breaths. As he brushed the hair from her face, he felt her tremble. She was shivering.
Yiska lowered his gaze and noticed a graceful neck and collarbone, soft enough to touch. Her top few buttons were undone. With gentle ministrations he fastened them, one by one. He could almost feel her beating heart, and knew she must feel the pounding of his when she placed her palm against his chest.
The thunder of hoofbeats came upon them, and a small posse of men pointed their rifles straight at Yiska.
“Papa, no!” Eliana cried. Half a dozen men approached on horseback, looking more like a lynch mob than the cavalry.
Papa cocked his rifle. “That’s my daughter you’ve got there. Move away from her.”
“That’s right, Wilcox. Nice and slow,” Mr. Robbins echoed.
“Eliana, come over here.” Her father’s face was like stone.
Eliana walked up to the cavalcade, no bindings in place and her hair hanging in tangles do
wn to her shoulders. She stood by her father’s side. “Papa, you have it all wrong. A Ute attacked. Yiska saved me.”
The group of men shifted their attention and scanned the area. A couple of them circled back and kept guard.
Warren Cates rode in a little closer. “That’s not what it looked like from here. Looked like Wilcox was the Indian doing the attacking.”
How dare he verbalize such an accusation? And in the presence of all these men, already gawking at her.
“Eliana, are you all right?” Mr. Mattheson asked.
Robbins narrowed his eyes, seething.
Eliana nodded toward Mr. Mattheson. Papa kept his eyes on her as he got off his horse. When he pulled her into the safety of his arms, she broke into tears.
Every bit the commander, Mr. Robbins pressed for details. “Where are the Utes now, Yiska? Why didn’t you signal an alert?”
“It just happened. There was only one Ute, and I managed to trade Eliana’s horse for her release. I’m confident the agreement satisfied him. I didn’t want to risk an Indian war.”
An odd twinge disturbed Eliana at the thought that her horse was more valuable to the Indian than she was. But what mattered was her value to Yiska. “Gentlemen. Stop pointing your guns at Yiska. He has done nothing wrong…or inappropriate. He handled the situation well.”
“Do you care to share why we found you as we did just now?” Mr. Cates asked.
“That is none of your concern, Cates.” Papa scolded.
“I beg to differ. Mr. Robbins, do you care to tell them, or shall I?” Mr. Cates sneered.
Chandler Robbins pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and held it up, along with a photograph of Eliana. “As we all can see, and evidenced by this photograph and the remarks on this paper, John Van Horn does not have a son. He has a daughter.” Mr. Robbins narrowed his eyes at Papa then turned his attention to her. “Your name is Eliana.”
Papa looked askance at his comrade. “You knew?”
“I just learned of this a short time ago. I was about to discuss the matter with you when…”
The men grumbled. “Well looky here, now we got ourselves some female company,” one said.
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